Famous Bereaved Poems by Famous Poets
These are examples of famous Bereaved poems written by some of the greatest and most-well-known modern and classical poets. PoetrySoup is a great educational poetry resource of famous bereaved poems. These examples illustrate what a famous bereaved poem looks like and its form, scheme, or style (where appropriate).
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by
Ralph Waldo Emerson
I
Thy trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;
Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader's art,
Nor tinkle of piano strings,
Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs.
The kingly bard
Must smile the chords rudely and hard,
As with hammer or with mace;
That they...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET LXVIII. Fuggendo la prigione ov' Amor m' ebbe. HE LONGS TO RETURN TO THE CAPTIVITY OF LOVE. Fleeing the prison which had long detain'd,Where Love dealt with me as to him seem'd well,Ladies, the time were long indeed to tell,How much my heart its new-found freedom pain'd.I felt within I...Read more of this...
by
William Topaz McGonagall
Alas! Now o'er Britannia there hangs a gloom,
Because over 400 British Tars have met with a watery tomb;
Who served aboard the " Victoria," the biggest ship in the navy,
And one of the finest battleships that ever sailed the sea.
And commanded by Sir George Tyron, a noble hero bold,
And his name on his tombstone should be written in letters...Read more of this...
by
William Blake
My spectre around me night and day
Like a wild beast guards my way.
My emanation far within
Weeps incessantly for my sin.
A fathomless and boundless deep,
There we wander, there we weep;
On the hungry craving wind
My spectre follows thee behind.
He scents thy footsteps in the snow,
Wheresoever thou dost go
Through the wintry hail and rain.
When wilt thou return again?
Dost thou not in pride...Read more of this...
by
William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas in the town of Sunderland, and in the year of 1883,
That about 200 children were launch'd into eternity
While witnessing an entertainment in Victoria Hall,
While they, poor little innocents, to God for help did call.
The entertainment consisted of conjuring, and the ghost illusion play,
Also talking waxworks, and living marionettes, and given by Mr. Fay;
And on this occasion, presents...Read more of this...
by
Sir Philip Sidney
The heavenly frame sets forth the fame
Of him that only thunders;
The firmament, so strangely bent,
Shows his handworking wonders.
Day unto day doth it display,
Their course doth it acknowledge,
And night to night succeeding right
In darkness teach clear knowledge.
There is no speech, no language which
Is so of skill bereaved,
But of the skies...Read more of this...
by
Vernon Scannell
The unrelated paragraphs of morning
Are forgotten now; the severed heads of kings
Rot by the misty Thames; the roses of York
And Lancaster are pressed between the leaves
Of history; ******* sleep in Africa.
The complexities of simple interest lurk
In inkwells and the brittle sticks of chalk:
Afternoon is come and English Grammar.
Rain falls as though the sky has been bereaved,
Stutters its inarticulate grief...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm some accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though—
I thought if I could only live
Till that first Shout got by—
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me—
I dared not meet the Daffodils—
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own—
I wished the Grass...Read more of this...
by
Thomas Moore
Though humble the banquet to which I invite thee,
Thou'lt find there the best a poor bard can command;
Eyes, beaming with welcome, shall throng round, to light thee,
And Love serve the feast with his own willing hand.
And though Fortune may seem to have turn'd from the dwelling
Of him thou regardest her favouring ray,
Thou wilt...Read more of this...
by
Ralph Waldo Emerson
The south-wind brings
Life, sunshine, and desire,
And on every mount and meadow
Breathes aromatic fire,
But over the dead he has no power,
The lost, the lost he cannot restore,
And, looking over the hills, I mourn
The darling who shall not return.
I see my empty house,
I see my trees repair their boughs,
And he, —the wondrous child,
Whose silver warble wild
Outvalued every pulsing sound
Within the air's...Read more of this...
by
Katharine Tynan
The night darkens fast & the shadows darken,
Clouds & the rain gather about mine house,
Only the wood-dove moans, hearken, O hearken!
The moan of the wood-dove in the rain-wet boughs.
Loneliness & the night! The night is lonely
Star-covered the night takes to a tender breast
Wrapping them in her veil these dark hours only
The weary, the bereaved, the dispossessed.
When will...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET ***. Quand' io mi volgo indietro a mirar gli anni. THE REMEMBRANCE OF THE PAST ENHANCES HIS MISERY. When I look back upon the many yearsWhich in their flight my best thoughts have entomb'd,And spent the fire, that, spite her ice, consumed,And finish'd the repose so full of tears,Broken the...Read more of this...
by
Charles Webb
The ticket settles on my desk: a paper tongue
pronouncing "Go away;" a flattened seed
from which a thousand-mile leap through the air can grow.
It's pure potential: a vacation-to-be
the way an apple is a pie-to-be,
a bullet is a death-to-be. Or is the future
pressed into it inalterably—woven between
the slick fibers like secret threads
from the U.S. Treasury? Is my flight number
already flashing as...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET LXVII. Lasciato hai, Morte, senza sole il mondo. HER TRUE WORTH WAS KNOWN ONLY TO HIM AND TO HEAVEN. Death, thou the world, since that dire arrow sped,Sunless and cold hast left; Love weak and blind;Beauty and grace their brilliance have resign'd,And from my heavy heart all joy is fled;Honour...Read more of this...
by
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Thy trivial harp will never please
Or fill my craving ear;
Its chords should ring as blows the breeze,
Free, peremptory, clear.
No jingling serenader's art,
Nor tinkle of piano strings,
Can make the wild blood start
In its mystic springs.
The kingly bard
Must smite the chords rudely and hard,
As with hammer or with mace,
That they may render back
Artful thunder that conveys
Secrets of the solar track,
Sparks of...Read more of this...
by
Francesco Petrarch
SONNET I. Oimè il bel viso! oimè il soave sguardo! ON THE ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE DEATH OF LAURA. Woe for the 'witching look of that fair face!The port where ease with dignity combined!Woe for those accents, that each savage mindTo softness tuned, to noblest thoughts the base!And the sweet smile, from...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
I dreaded that first Robin, so,
But He is mastered, now,
I'm accustomed to Him grown,
He hurts a little, though --
I thought If I could only live
Till that first Shout got by --
Not all Pianos in the Woods
Had power to mangle me --
I dared not meet the Daffodils --
For fear their Yellow Gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my...Read more of this...
by
William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas in the year of 1898, ond on the 21st of June,
The launching of the Battleship Albion caused a great gloom,
Amongst the relatives of many persons who were drowned in the River Thames,
Which their relatives will remember while life remains.
The vessel was christened by the Duchess of York,
And the spectators' hearts felt light as cork
As the Duchess cut...Read more of this...
by
Jean Delville
Implacably, dismally, prophetically,
It is raining, interminable tears of rain, it rains
Death upon the dismal city, long bereaved of sun.
It rains annihilation, immensely, upon my sleep
and my tormented dreams and, in the night, it rains
implacably, dismally, prophetically?
Oh! the secret sorrow of the Night weeps
Upon the pale wakefulness of my pensive mind.
Upon the slab of my brow, with funereal sobs,
it is raining...Read more of this...
by
D. H. Lawrence
Since you did depart
Out of my reach, my darling,
Into the hidden,
I see each shadow start
With recognition, and I
Am wonder-ridden.
I am dazed with the farewell,
But I scarcely feel your loss.
You left me a gift
Of tongues, so the shadows tell
Me things, and silences toss
Me their drift.
You sent me a cloven fire
Out of...Read more of this...
by
Emily Dickinson
Bereaved of all, I went abroad --
No less bereaved was I
Upon a New Peninsula --
The Grave preceded me --
Obtained my Lodgings, ere myself --
And when I sought my Bed --
The Grave it was reposed upon
The Pillow for my Head --
I waked to find it first awake --
I rose -- It followed me --
I tried to drop it in the...Read more of this...
by
William Blake
MY mother bore me in the southern wild,
And I am black, but O, my soul is white!
White as an angel is the English child,
But I am black, as if bereaved of light.
My mother taught me underneath a tree, 5
And, sitting down before the heat of day,
She took me on her lap and kiss¨¨d me,...Read more of this...
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